


Like earth heaped over the heart

by signalbeam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions Route, Childhood Friends, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: While on an errand during the war, Felix secures the help of the future Margrave Gautier.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Like earth heaped over the heart

Felix hadn’t noticed the house the first time he crossed into Charon. Heading south, following the river down to Charon to join his father’s army, the house looked decrepit, one of those country estates built in more optimistic times gone to waste during the war. The grass around the house formed a tall, dry, brown screen around the mansion. The crest of some minor lord flew at regular, tattered intervals along the road, once as warnings. To call them mere reminders now would be generous. The groundkeeper’s hut had been ransacked and had holes in its thatched roof; a few tenants and serfs still lived on the lands, but wretchedly; they clutched their farm scythes and hoes close to their bodies when they answered questions and stared covetously at Felix’s fur-lined gloves. 

“Times so bad you’re stealing from your peasants, is that it? Gonna call Lord Hersart and ‘plain about it, mark my words…” 

“That so,” Felix said. The knight captain Felix had been assigned to glowered but did not say more; no doubt he would have liked to do the usual chest thumping. Without this army, you would be speaking Sreng; without us, the Emperor will trample your dog and spike your head on a lance. Felix had little tolerance for that kind of talk from the nobility or officers or the rank and file, either. It was stupid to boast about how necessary you were when you were begging for food; it was stupid to need to beg because you had lost most of your supplies in a river crossing; it was stupid to refuse to pay the bandits who had captured their supplies; it was stupid to take the sheep’s road instead of the highway to avoid Cornelia’s taxes and end up robbed by different means. Since being assigned to the unit the week before, Felix had been witness to much stupidity. 

The village didn’t have much to offer beyond a few bags of bruised turnips, barely enough to supplement their stock of food. The captain, Tristan, assigned Felix to retrieve the food from the bandits alone. Tristan gave the assignment because he hated Felix. They were second cousins and had gotten along in their boyhood, back when Tristan was the young, absurdly huge knight winning all the demonstration tournaments. Now Felix beat Tristan regularly at training; the few times they had fought together, Tristan would shout, “That was my kill!” when Felix intercepted the enemies charging at Tristan’s flank. He protected Tristan even though he, too, hated Tristan. When Tristan told him he should go back, Felix stiffened. He didn’t understand why, despite how dunderheaded and cottonbrained Tristan was, he couldn’t say, “Excellent. I’ll be happy to demonstrate how to beat a common pig,” straight off. His first words were nearly, “And let _you_ end up dead on the side of the road?” as though he cared about this idiot man. 

Not a single one of Tristan’s men offered to retrieve the food with him. They were loyal to Tristan and still disliked Felix more than they cared about food. Felix went to the villagers and asked them where and when he could find this Lord Hersart. 

“The lord hasn’t been here in a while, ‘cept for his enforcer men…” 

“Fine, they’ll do,” Felix said. “Have they been by recently? Where are they?” 

“They stay mostly at the manor of one of the lords Tostig over there.” 

By horseback, it’d be a few hours to reach the manor, according to the villagers, although none of them had ever been there themselves. Felix took a horse from Tristan and went riding off to the manor. He’d arrive late at night, he knew, but he didn’t want to wait. To raid a village for food out of desperation was pathetic, but to make a plan of doing so all the way to their destination was too shameful to tolerate; even so, he knew Tristan planned to continue onward at daybreak. He took some of the sad turnips, his sword, a spare lance, and some vulnaries, and headed out. 

#

The Tostig manor was busy when Felix arrived, even though it was dark. Even though it was only a few hours south, it felt like a different season: the trees had some of their leaves, the ground was still wet instead of hard and frozen, and people went about in something resembling cheer. For there were still reasons to be cheerful: yes, they were three years into a war, but the harvest had been good that year. The yearly tournament had been held for the first time since the archbishop disappeared and a commoner had won. The regent was dead, the prince was missing—dead, too, they said—and there was war; but at last, after shock after shock, it felt like they understood what the next years of their lives could look like. 

The Tostig manor was within a day’s ride of the Charon capital and often hosted troops traveling southwest to fight the Imperial forces and then northeast as they retreated north to recover, take new stations, or acquire new supplies. A camp sprawled out from the road to the manor. 

Approaching the camp, Felix was stopped twice by Faerghus soldiers and allowed through once he gave his name and purpose. He was offered a tent for the night and a meeting with Count Tostig in the morning, which he refused. He wanted soldiers so he could make a raid. 

“But only if they’re competent,” Felix said. “I don’t have time to babysit.” 

“Sir, it’s dark, and…” 

“I would like to go as soon as possible. If not, then I’ll go out on my own.” 

He truly was about to leave that irksome place and do just that when a man pushed his way to him. It was Sylvain, dressed not in armor like the others, but in plain clothes. 

“You sure you want to let a chance to see Duke Fraldarius’ son in action slip by?” Sylvain said, shaking his head. He clapped Felix’s shoulder a few times. “I know I can’t wait to see him take down some rogues stealing from the Kingdom. It’ll be easy. They’ll be like practice dummies for him.”

Murmurs of greetings passed through the group of soldiers and knights: Lord Gautier, Lord Sylvain. Some reverential, some with the excitement of spotting a wished-for friend, some grumbling.

“I won’t bring along dead weight,” Felix said. “These days, even the bandits are strong. They find good weapons on the battlefield and mishandle them, which makes them dangerous, or they’re deserters with skills. You could lose your life at any time.” 

“That kind of attitude’s just what you need to stay alive on the battlefield,” Sylvain said easily. When the men around him became cheery, a familiar smile crept onto his face. Felix knew it well. It was the smile Sylvain usually reserved for women when he became tired of them. 

They got two young knights willing to go with them, who went to get battle supplies and food for Felix. The crowd dispersed around them and soon Felix and Sylvain were alone together. Sylvain signaled that they should step away from the camp entrance; even at this late hour, people were coming in and out. 

They took Felix’s horse to the stable to drink and eat. When they had been students, the professor often assigned the two of them to the stables mostly, Felix suspected, for Sylvain’s benefit. The smells of horseshit and hay and animal made him want to take up a shovel and bark at Sylvain to find a barrel, or pick up a brush and check on his horse more thoroughly. His vision had adjusted to the night again. Sylvain looked the way he had in the academy: big shouldered with skinny wrists and big hands and a pointed, freckled face. His clothes had the funk of a soldier’s travels and were singed at the wrist. So he was still dabbling in magic. Felix said as much. 

“I’m pretty good at it now,” Sylvain said. “Doesn’t hurt when I’m showing off for the ladies, either. If you’ve followed me all the way down here, you might as well make a day trip with me.” 

“I’m not wasting my time on that. I see you’re idling as always.” 

“Dad called us back up for the annual Sreng invasion. What about you? You haven’t gone rogue, have you?” His brow pinched slightly as he studied Felix. 

“I wouldn’t have to if that fool Tristan hadn’t lost most of our food.” 

“Oh, your uncle Edwin’s oldest son. So you’re on your way to the frontlines again if you’re going with him. Have you passed by Galatea lately? Or heard from Rowe?” 

“I don’t know. It’s hard to get letters.” 

“Ha. I’ve been writing, you know.” 

“Anything you said in the letters you can say to me now. Go on, tell me.” 

“It’s nothing that important. Knowing you, you’d rather spar, anyway.”

Felix laughed at that. Then he found he couldn’t stop laughing; the idea of Sylvain offering to fight him with that look of consternation when he knew he’d lose was a happy kind of idiotic. 

“What? I said something nice, and this is what I get?” Sylvain said. Then he started laughing himself and put his arm around Felix’s shoulders. “I missed you,” he said in his low, serious voice. His hand was on Felix’s waist and their hips were pressed close together. Felix felt a spark of annoyance. It was impossible to be upset with Sylvain when he spoke sincerely, since he was almost never sincere, but he wanted to hit Sylvain then. Neither of them were dying, so what did this man think he was getting away with now? His laughter stopped. Sylvain let go of him. “We can catch up on the way.”

People were calling for Sylvain. Sylvain took his horse from his stall and mounted it easily. He only wore light armor, claiming it made it easier for him to cast spells, and borrowed Felix’s spear. Felix was given a new, fresh horse from the stables and the one he took from Tristan was allowed to rest. He was given a chicken sandwich, a small bowl of cold soup, and some beer for refreshment. 

They didn’t have much time to catch up. In front of the other two soldiers, Sylvain was his normal self: an annoying flirt with the female soldier who accompanied him and too chummy with the male soldier. Felix disliked both of them. The man was smitten with Sylvain and rode too close to Felix in an attempt to ride closer to Sylvain. It made Felix’s horse nervous. The woman nodded solemnly whenever Sylvain said something intelligent and plucked the string of her bow whenever Sylvain’s eyes lingered on her too long. Every now and then, Sylvain would shoot a look at Felix, a conciliatory, “Thanks for being patient,” kind of look, and it irritated Felix all the more. He hadn’t not noticed the way Sylvain was becoming more and more a real heir to the house—but why did that mean that Felix should be the recipient of such pointless looks, looks that said, Here we are together, the same, you and I, in dealing with these people. If Felix had to deal with bleating sycophants any time he wanted to complete a mission, he would rather have gone alone. 

#

They arrived at the bandit camp in the woods before dawn. The bandits had cut down some trees and formed a simple fence on three sides. When Felix and Tristan and the other knights tangled with the bandits earlier, there were ten of them. Right now, they could only spot eight: two awake to guard the food, four asleep, two by the open wall to look for threats. Sylvain and the other two had been stationed around Count Tostig’s manor for the last few months; Margrave Gautier and Count Tostig were old friends, and Sylvain was tasked with clearing out the bandits in the area. Felix and the young male soldier would go out front, with the female archer and Sylvain behind them. 

As a courtesy, Felix and the young male soldier dismounted and approached the guards and explained their purpose; when the guard refused, a strange look came over the male soldier’s face, timidity flashing into rage. He rushed in front of Felix and cut the guard down with a yell, waking up everyone in the camp. Felix dodged out of the soldier’s way and was nearly cut by the second guard’s ax. 

“Watch it!” he bellowed, for all the good it did. The young man had already turned his blade on the second guard. Blood sprayed out of the second guard’s gut, but not before he swung his ax again and caught the boy by the neck. Felix took down the second guard and caught the boy soldier before he could fall on his face. The ground by the entrance had been worn down to bare dirt, growing dark with blood. 

“You have to make curved shots,” Sylvain said, patting the woman on the back and changing the angle of her arms. “If you shoot straight, you’ll hit Felix or Robert.” 

“But it’s dark!” the woman said. 

“All right, all right,” Sylvain said. “Forget it, then. Tend to Robert while Felix and I go forward.” 

“What was the point in bringing them?” Felix said as they pulled ahead. Sylvain was on his horse, lance pointed forward. “They’re worse than useless.” 

“They’re having a rough start, I know,” Sylvain said, with that placid face still on. Infuriating. Even now, he still played the fool. “Do you trust me, Felix? Do you think I’d let them come if I thought they’d drag us down?” 

“You don’t even like them.” 

Sylvain laughed. He threw his head back and smiled. “No.” 

They took down two bandits together, Sylvain spurring horse on to drive his lance into a bandit’s face, ripping the jaw clean off, and Felix swinging his sword up to cut into a man’s armpit and chest. The air whistled and a thick arrow embedded itself into a bandit’s back; another arrow into the leg of a bandit running away. Pinned down, he was an easy target for Felix’s sword. Six down. 

Felix was about to turn around to shout a grudging compliment, when another arrow shot through the air—not from their archer, but from another from the woods. It landed in the woman’s shoulder, and she fell to the ground. The idiot boy was back on his feet, his head swinging left and right, then running towards the arrow. Sylvain rushed his horse, and Felix chased after him. He had a horrible premonition of how this would play out: Sylvain would try to save the boy because he regretted bringing him along on this job, and if he didn’t stop Sylvain… 

“Stop!” he shouted. “Sylvain!” 

An arrow hit Sylvain in the leg, and he almost dropped off his horse. He raised his hand and pulled it back, and an arc of fire exploded out of his fingers and into the trees. The horse kept going; Sylvain was trying to work the foot of his injured leg out of the stirrup. The second arrow missed, but Sylvain was in pain and he slid almost off the horse. He pulled at the reins; the horse slowed and the idiot boy turned around to help Sylvain off the horse. When Felix got there, he shoved the boy away and ripped Sylvain’s pants leg further up. 

“Get off me,” Sylvain said. “There are still two people in the woods. I just need eyes on them and they’re dead.”

“Shut up,” Felix said. “What were you thinking?” 

The woman was back on her feet, looking shaky but all right. 

“Sir!” the boy said. “Frieda and I can go on ahead.” 

“No,” Sylvain said. “You and Frieda should go back to the Tostigs and let them know we’ve secured the food and will need help getting it back to Earl Tristan Fraldarius. Felix and I will stay with the supplies.” 

“But you’re—” 

“This? Flesh wound,” Sylvain said. “I’ll take a concoction and be all right in a few minutes. Now go.” 

The woman and the boy took off on their horses, leaving Sylvain and Felix at the camp. Felix shoved the concoction into Sylvain’s mouth, ignoring his complaints about Felix being rough or the glass hitting his teeth. Years ago, Felix would’ve found it grotesque to stay in the bandit’s camp, surrounded by their bedding and their dying bodies. He thought about finishing the job, but he knew better than to waste lives because he was uncomfortable. These were his countrymen. 

“Let’s go there,” Felix said, nodding at one of the tents still standing. He and Sylvain limped to the tent. 

“Wait,” Sylvain said. He put his hand on Felix’s wrist before Felix could open the door. Felix almost shook him off, but let himself take a breath. Yes, there was someone in there. He took his sword out and used it to part the tent flap. A bandit in dark brown rags lunged, and Felix swung down, splitting her from shoulder to hip. She was done. 

They limped over to the back wall and sat down. Sylvain leaned against him, and Felix tolerated it for a few seconds, then pushed him away. 

“Ow, ow!” Sylvain said. “What’s that for?” 

Felix didn’t respond. He was tired and infuriated. 

Sylvain rubbed his leg. He was thinking. “That was a lot easier than doing this on your own. You would’ve been stabbed without me. You have your supplies and Tristan’s favor. That’ll be a big help to you down the line.” 

“You shouldn’t have brought those two with us. They weren’t ready.” 

“Neither were we.” Sylvain shrugged, as though this were a casual thing. “Anyway, ten against two? We’d be done for.” 

Felix grunted. He didn’t think so, but it was clear Sylvain did. He took off his coat and draped it over Sylvain’s leg. Sylvain beckoned Felix closer so he could spread Felix’s coat over both of them. 

“You’re too lazy to even make your own body heat,” Felix said. 

“Ha. Yeah, that’s me.” He put his arm around Felix’s shoulder again and, when Felix didn’t pull away, brought him closer. “Felix, how would you feel about joining me here?” 

“No.” 

“Come on. You don’t even like Tristan.”

“I’d hate you if I had to watch you fling people to their deaths every day.” 

“That’s going to be you, too, someday,” Sylvain said. “When that happens, I’ll be the better leader. I’m not going to be caught off-guard. Come join me. It’s too hard on my own. I need you there.” 

The talk of competition made Felix happy and upset at once. He liked being Sylvain’s peer in all things, but he didn’t know if he liked this change. Neither of them were the same people they were in childhood; if they hadn’t known each other as children, Felix wouldn’t have bothered to get to know Sylvain at all. The man Sylvain chose to become as a student was contemptible, frivolous, and careless with people’s hearts; the man Sylvain chose to be now had a similar face, but was careless with people’s lives, too. 

And he knew how Sylvain operated. The smooth talk, the furrowed brow, the hand clasping his target’s hand. He knew the gestures and the words and the expressions of a seduction or recruitment. 

“I didn’t get all this for Tristan just to leave him,” he said. “You’d do better to build your people up instead of stealing soldiers away from their lieges.” 

It was hateful calling Tristan his liege, but it was also the truth. Felix was of age and not interested in taking the dukedom. For years, Tristan had been groomed to assume Rodrigue’s responsibilities even if he wouldn’t get the name. Felix knew that. For that, he owed Tristan—something. His sword. His guidance. A willingness to not let him be dead in the way Glenn and Dmitri were. 

Sylvain gave Felix a narrow-eyed look, then shook his head. He looked up at the clouds, at the bright spot in their veil, and said, “You really loved that guy, didn’t you.” 

“Shut up,” he said. “We don’t need the boar’s ghost trampling here.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Sylvain’s nose bumped against Felix’s cheek. Felix turned away, but reached under his coat and squeezed Sylvain’s knee. Then he decided why not. Why not, he thought. It didn’t mean anything to Sylvain, who compulsively sought people out to outrun how much he hated himself and his duties, and it didn’t mean anything to him, either, not when he could see right through Sylvain. Seeing through Sylvain made it harder to love him in the way Sylvain feared. There was no point in telling him this. Sylvain wouldn’t listen to him. 

Why was it that growing up made it harder to talk to people you once knew? Ways they once had of talking to each other had become either childish or too dangerous. Words were worse than never enough. Let this kiss be a reminder that they had a present, even a future, of sorts; even if it was cold and even if it was just the two of them. 

#

Felix spent the rest of autumn and winter fighting with Tristan for Rodrigue. They were decently supplied, thanks to his efforts. Tristan’s knights liked him better for a while, but not for very long. By spring, Tristan was still alive and more idiotic than ever. He and his knights were sent back north to Fraldarius to recuperate and keep up the appearance of full military might at home. Felix meant to ride all the way with them, but separated from them at Charon. He didn’t need to stay with Tristan’s people for their victory lap around Fraldarius when there was still a war going on. 

The Tostig manor had been burned down by saboteurs at the end of winter and was being rebuilt. The camps had been mostly dispersed and moved closer to the city. Felix went around and asked after Sylvain and was told that he had departed for the Sreng border weeks before the manor burned. 

“I see,” Felix said. It would have been too much to be lucky twice. 

He asked whether there was an active campaign against Cornelia near the capital. Yes. He asked if there was anyone who’d be interested in traveling with him to join the fight. 

“I’m Duke Fraldarius’ son,” he said, in a voice that he knew sounded irritated and pained. “I fight well, and I’d like some men to join me as long as they won’t slow me down.” 

What a relief when no one offered their arms and provided him only with supplies. He didn’t need these people—he didn’t need anything here. He took his horse and rode away towards the capital. He should have asked the professor for help with commanding authority during individual instruction; he would have liked to have a friend with him. But he liked being alone, he liked the trees in their cautious, blushing bloom, he liked knowing this would bring him closer to a fight. 

It was the fourth year of the war, and there were still reasons to be happy for those willing to have them.

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you're the adult on someone else's tutorial mission? Felix hates that.


End file.
